Dog Tales (1)

Source: Internet

Dog Tales

 

First of all, introduction.

My scientific name is Canis lupus familiaris. I’m almost sure you don’t know yours, and you probably don’t remember how I arrived at mine. It’s O’ level biology! Let me refresh your memory.

Kingdom: Animalia

Phylum: Chordata

Class: Mammalia

Order: Carnivora

Suborder: Carniformia

Family: Canidae

Genus: Canis

Species: Canis lupus

Subspecies: Canis lupus familiaris

 

Forget all that. My given name is Suckey. Not, Sucky. It’s Suckey. And, I am a dog—John’s dog.

Let’s start from my name. I was christened Suckey but I don’t understand why he calls me Stop-That. Whatever that means in the world of humans! When I try to do this, I hear, Stop-That! When I try to do that, I hear, Stop-That! I don’t know what it means but since he never says it with a smile, I’m guessing it’s not a compliment. And, whenever he says it, I just refrain from whatever I’m doing. 

If my memory serves me right, it was one sunny afternoon while I was playing with my siblings, he came to our house and after discussing with my former owner, they deceived me and my mother. Then he took me away. It was perfectly arranged that no one could have believed I was being dognapped.

I was blindfolded (you know? maybe not literally, but since everywhere was dark, how would I know?) and after a long ride to a forest-reserve-kind-of-house, I opened my eyes inside his room. We travelled for close to like 3-canine-days.

NB: A full canine-day (unlike solar day) is the period between a dog’s last meal and the next time it becomes hungry. I was hungry trice during the journey; that makes 3-canine-days!

You see? Perfect dognapping! I can’t even trace my way back home even if I wanted to—not that I want to, anyway.

At first, I thought to myself despite the biting hunger, “I won’t eat. I’ll register my displeasure by mocking his food.” I tried. Believe me, I honestly tried, until hunger took serious hold of me. I growled to get his attention but his mind was made up; he didn’t even think in that direction. He was too excited to have me around, doting all over me like one who’s just found a new love. He cleared a space for me in his room and brought in a plate of food with a partition for water.

So, tell me, what would you have done if you were in my shoes? Eat, of course. I ate, but I also peed and poo in his room as a punishment for his actions, and inactions. He thought I was feeling at home. Poor human! What does he know? I repeated the process—eat, drink, pee, and poo in his room—a few times more until he kicked me out. Such is life. I knew it would come to that eventually.

It would have been better if he’d just kicked me out; but no, he didn’t. Instead, he kicked me out and locked me up. Is that fair? I didn’t steal anything—or, at least I’d not started then—neither did I bite anyone; all I did was … and that was all. He locked me behind bars. I foolishly repeated the hunger-strike attempt for registering displeasure, and it still didn’t work. I should have known better. Poor me!

Then I tried something else. After enduring the captivity—or, shall I say, incarceration—for a while, I devised another method. I waited till they’d all gone to bed, then I started midnight wailings. I wailed like a bereaved bitch and did it annoyingly and provokingly. Tell you something? It worked! I guess he was afraid that the Dog Police might hear my calls and come on a rescue mission, so he set me free.

Since then, I’ve been able to move around freely in the compound without being locked up in a room where I can’t pee how I like or in a cell where I have to suffocate from the stench of my own rubbish. That’s why I get this chance to tell my side of the story. I’ll tell you here what he may never tell you himself. I’ll be revealing secrets. Secrets, people! I know it’s risky, but I can only try.

 

I’m not through with my story. In case you don’t hear from me anytime soon, please call the police. Raise an amber alert! Call an ambulance too. Call Animal Planet. Call Nat Geo Wild. Tell them it’s an emergency. When they come—if they come—tell them to check the well or the water tank. Tell them to dig around our backyard while searching for me. They can check the stream that runs behind the fence too, in case I drown while trying to escape. I can’t swim.

You can tell them to check the mango tree at the backyard, just in case he hangs me there. Though I can’t imagine myself hanging on a tree, but who knows? Some humans are cruel! I still can’t believe they crucified Jesus even though he was a good Man—though I learnt it was for the salvation of humans. (I wish you’d just accept Him). But, if they could do that to Him, please remember to check the electric poles too to ensure that I have not been electro-crucified.

Till I come your way again—if any of the above hasn’t happened to me—I remain the only story-telling dogfriend you can have, Suckey Stop-That. Sighs. What choice do I have? Sounds like that’s my middle name now. Are you laughing at me? Stop That!

 

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